


Off-Lease Arrangements

by Eshnoazot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beelzebub dumpster dives, Beelzebub is a medical resident, Beelzebub studies infectious diseases, Beelzebub tries to unionise, Beelzebub works the nightshift, Dagon is an artist, Gabriel gets suckered into MLM's on the daily, Gabriel is a postman, Gabriel works the day shift, Hastur has an emotional support frog, Human AU, Ineffable Administrators (Good Omens), Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ligur adopts lizards, Michael is the Manager of a Post Office, Other, Street artist Hastur
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:02:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eshnoazot/pseuds/Eshnoazot
Summary: “Hmm,” Gabriel sniffed, “I’ve left a notice on your door, your courtyard is in violation of several rules, and I've issued you a notice in line with the HomeOwner Associations guidelines. You can’t just keep hoarding piles of rusted metal and trash in view of the street. Property values are at stake!”“Hey fuck you,” Beelzebub responded, “Dagon’s a sculptural artist. It’s art, you uncultured fuck.”“It’s a tetanus risk,” Gabriel responded, “And you have 7 days to have it cleared out.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepyforest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepyforest/gifts).

> I'm stuck in an airport due to a cancelled flight, have my exhausted weird thoughts friends. Probably riddled with spelling mistakes bc tired.

Beelzebub was a cloud of exhaustion drifting home after the end of the late shift when they noticed Gabriel walking down the stairs from his apartment in an utter huff. Beelzebub glowered on instinct; every single Friday they had this little exchange, when Beelzebub walked home from their overnight shift as a medical resident in a gigantic hoodie and sweatpants they’d stolen from one of Dagon’s exes in lieu of rent. The grease-stained fabric was perhaps the only thing that Beelzebub owned that was large enough to hide the filthy scrubs underneath. Something about the unwashed hoodie and baggy sweatpants were also a little comforting after coming off a 12 hour shift where Beelzebub spent a tad more time in morgues than with patients. 

Gabriel, the colossal arsehole however, was always the same regardless of weather. Dressed in a stupid postman uniform with blue schoolboy shorts, a wide brim hat for sun protection, and a button-up shirt with a pocket protector. His tanned face was always a little shiny from the sunscreen he religiously donned, for maximum sun protection. Beelzebub would get only a few hours of peace before the idiot would come pounding on the door delivering the mail - requiring a signature for all the stupid trinkets Hastur and Ligur ordered off ebay whenever payday came. He was through, he was by the door, and he was the exact kind of arsehole who knew that Beelzebub worked nights.

Beelzebub bristled before he even spoke, and adopted a look of utter derision even before they could blearily make out the stupidly arrogant look on his face. His stupid white socks had been ironed to made perfectly crisp folds above his ankle.

“Your off-lease visitors woke me up at _ 2am _,” He announced, while crossing his arms across his chest, “Curious, since we are explicitly not allowed to have off-lease visitors in our apartments without a lease-holder being present. I’m reporting it to building management.”

“Gabriel, a _ pleasure _ as always,” Beelzebub hissed, glaring past eyes swollen from lack of sleep, “If there was any noise, it might be because you insist on practicing the trumpet at 6pm.”

“A perfectly reasonable time to practice the musical arts,” Gabriel said, “Hastur and Ligur were playing videos at 2am.”

“They have to study sometime,” Beelzebub defended, “If you would just password protect your speakers, they couldn’t accidentally connect to them.”

“Hmm,” Gabriel sniffed, “I’ve left a notice on your door, your courtyard is in violation of several rules, and I've issued you a notice in line with the HomeOwner Associations guidelines. You can’t just keep hoarding piles of rusted metal and trash in view of the street. Property values are at stake!”

“Hey fuck you,” Beelzebub responded, “Dagon’s a sculptural artist. It’s art, _you uncultured fuck_.”

“It’s a tetanus risk,” Gabriel responded, “And you have 7 days to have it cleared out.”

“You’re not even a Homeowner,” Beelzebub responded in outrage, “How did you get elected as President?”

“_ She _ allowed me to run as _ her proxy _,” Gabriel said, and Beelzebub immediately knew who he was speaking of.

_ She _, of course, was the landlord that Gabriel and Beelzebub shared. Originally, the big terraced house had been a large family home, before She’d had it sub-divided. Beelzebub rented the basement level apartment, and more or less kept an open-door policy which Hastur and Ligur abused. Dagon at least regularly brought home groceries, although it just tended to be fish from the fish markets where she worked part-time around her artistic aspirations. Crowley, tended to show up every so often, although Beelzebub had seen less of him since he'd snagged himself a boyfriend and a job as a florist.

The top apartment, which smelled of intense cleaning chemicals and an endless array of weird candles, was where Mister President of the Neighbourhood Watch, President of the Homeowners Association, Local Postman and general _ busybody _ Gabriel lived. Beelzebub had hated him since they'd heard the ridiculous doorbell which played the Sound of Music over and over in a tone that echoed in Beelzebub's apartment.

Between them was a single foyer with a staircase that went up, and a staircase that went down. The staircase that went up, of course was the direction which Gabriel came stomping down every morning, inevitably waking up Beelzebub’s entire cohort because Gabriel thumped down with every step - probably because Gabriel was well over 6ft tall, and built with so many muscles, Beelzebub often wondered if he was Frankenstein’s monster brought to life with at least 12 abs. _ Disgusting. _

_ "This is harrassment," _Beelzebub announced, "You can't bitch about a little mess - last week this whole hallway was filled with your weird Multi-level marketing scheme bullshit. There were so many boxes that it blocked the fire exit."

"Tupperware isn't a scam," Gabriel retorted, "It's an environmentally friendly and sanitary way of storing food, minimalising waste and maximising storage capacity. I have seen you climbing inside dumpsters."

"Dumpster diving is _smart_," Beelzebub retorted, "Perfectly good food gets thrown away by corporations because of a little denting of cans or cosmetic packaging scruffs? It's _madness_."

"It's a _dumpster_," Gabriel snapped back with a wide smile, "It's _gross_."

"Get fucked," Beelzebub snapped back, and fisted the keys to their apartment so they could jam it in the lock and open the door, "Enjoy being scammed out of your life savings jackass."

"Enjoy dying of easily preventable diseases," Gabriel called, "Like tetanus, and salmonella. Maybe _take a shower for once_-"

Beelzebub slammed the door shut behind them, and immediately screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ineffable Administrators is my new favourite ship and I will die, shoving Michael and Dagon together to please my little gay heart.

“What’s your problem?” Dagon asked, throwing herself into the seat beside Beelzebub, “I can hear you groaning and moaning from my bedroom, and it’s not even the kind that will mean you’ll be in a good mood tomorrow.”

“Fuck off,” Beelzebub snapped, “My bathroom isn’t your bedroom.”

“The blankets in the bathtub say otherwise,” Dagon replied, “I’ve got fish in the vanity so you’re going to have to use the kitchen sink from now on if you want the toilet.”

“You better not be growing anything in my shower,” Beelzebub grumbled, “Also you have clay on your face. And your neck.”

“It’s a choice,” Dagon replied, “The seedlings are only going to be in there tonight. I’m transporting them across the border tomorrow. You can shower when they’re gone or use my gym membership. It’s 24 hours. Don’t touch the seedlings. They’re a little poisonous.”

“Hmm,” Beelzebub responded, and burrowed their head into the blankets, “It’s almost time for work.”

Dagon glanced at the clock on the wall; Beelzebub was right, it was almost 6pm. Soon Beelzebub would have to start the long trek to the hospital, because the only one of their little cohort who knew how to drive was Crowley, and he was off on a vineyard tour of the countryside with his new beau. Since Hastur and Ligur moved in, there hadn’t been a single Taxi or Uber prepared to come and pick anyone up. They were lucky enough that Gabriel refused to use any form of pollutant, and just rode his bike everywhere, or walked – because he was enormous, and a single stride let him clear half the town.

If it had inconvenienced him in any way, he was also incredibly vocal, and wrote strongly worded letters of complaint to slip under the door and submit to the local newspaper. Hastur and Ligur kept cutting them out, and sticking them on the wall, in clear violation of the lease agreement.

Beelzebub sighed loudly, and Dagon looked a little closer at Beelzebub’s face. They had deep circles under their eyes and a sheen of oil and sweat covering their brow.

Dagon frowned.

“You’re diseased,” Dagon announced bluntly, “Doctor Bub, have you called in sick?”

“I’m fine,” Beelzebub insisted, “I just need to grab a coffee on the way, and I’m fine.”

“You study infectious diseases in an immune-compromised ward,” Dagon responded kindly, “You’re an infectiologist. If you walk into a hospital full of sick people – are you trying to _improve_ your job security by infecting everyone, or are you trying to get a day off by killing all your patients?”

“I’m an internist,” Beelzebub corrected, “I’m only a fellow in infectious diseases. I don’t have patients to see, I’m just helping ease the load in emergency.”

“Call work or I’ll report you to the medical board for malpractice,” Dagon cheerfully responded, launching a plastic brick of a phone at Beelzebub, “Then go the fuck back to bed.”

“I would but someone stole my pillows,” Beelzebub yawned, “I got home around 8am and went to sleep, and when I woke up all my bedding was gone.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dagon blinked, “Hastur needed it, and he didn’t give much of a reason why. I think he wanted a drop-sheet for his street art. He was covered in a lot of green spray paint when he came back. Also, Ligur adopted some kind of lizard. Not sure if there was paperwork, or if he stole it from someone off the internet.”

“Or _found_ it,” Beelzebub muttered darkly, remembering the ugly feral frog that Hastur kept in the laundry room, “You know we’re not allowed to keep pets, right?”

“Hastur is legally allowed to keep his emotional support frog,” Dagon recited, “I’ll make Ligur do the paperwork for his lizard after we figure out _what kind_ of lizard it is.”

Beelzebub yawned again, and wiped off their forehead with the back of their sleeve. They frowned at the sticky wetness that was left on their arm. Dagon glowered back, but in the _unfriendly lesbian_ way that Beelzebub was so fond of, until Beelzebub grudgingly picked up the phone and called in sick to work.

When it was done, Dagon stuck her hand down her shirt and pulled out a chocolate bar from her bra, and dropped it on Beelzebub’s lap. Beelzebub glowered while Dagon ruffled their hair cheerfully.

“You’re dead to me,” Beelzebub huffed back, but unwrapped the chocolate anyway, “Get a job, you parasitic freeloader. Stop giving Hastur all my shit.”

“I’m going to make you some salmon for dinner,” Dagon replied cheerfully, “Because I don’t know when you last ate something that wasn’t from a vending machine or an instant coffee. First, you’re going to go for a walk for some fresh air while there’s still sunlight out there. Have you even felt the sun on your skin this century?”

“I don’t need your opinion Dagon,” Beelzebub bristled, “Since you haven’t eaten a fruit in your entire life.”

“You have the complexion of chalk,” Dagon quipped back, “No wonder you’re pathetically lonely.”

“Are you trying to bully me out of my own apartment?” Beelzebub responded with a hiss to their voice, “Dagon, really?”

“The salmon is in the sink,” Dagon replied, “I’ve gotta kill and gut it before I can cook it, and I know you’re a little squeamish about that.”

“It stinks,” Beelzebub replied with a sniff, “And Gabriel will come down here and complain about his stupid vegan sensitivities and odorous harassment and then we’ll never get a lick of sleep ever again.”

“I’ll deal with that,” Dagon responded with a wide smile; her braces were smothered in dental wax, which gave her an odd, almost inhuman look to her smile, “Gabriel and I have an understanding. His manager and I are acquainted.”

“Oh?” Beelzebub commented in surprise.

“In the _biblical _sense,” Dagon added.

“Oh,” Beelzebub replied with a frown, and far less surprise.

“Yeah, Michael lives upstairs with Gabriel,” Dagon continued, and Beelzebub could only half-remember a very stern looking woman with short hair, “Along with the other two who I don’t care to waste my time remembering. They’re all approved on the lease before you get in a huff about Mr Muscles being a hypocrite.”

Beelzebub huffed anyway, just to spite Dagon.

Dagon grinned, and this time it was less sharp, “Gabriel knows Michael gave me a spare key, and knows that I have absolutely _no problems_ fucking with his thermostat, or moving his furniture just a little bit, or re-organising his fridge the next time I’m up there. Michael would help me too.”

“You fuck with _my_ thermostat, and reorganise my fridge, and move my furniture,” Beelzebub responded flatly.

“Yeah Michael helps with that too,” Dagon added cheerfully, “On account on how annoying you are whenever you get into a strop over Gabriel. Fucking deal with your shit. Either fuck him, tell him to get fucked, or walk upstairs and – I don’t know – cough on him with your diseases and kill him.”

“I’m not taking advice from someone who has an outstanding warrant for fish theft,” Beelzebub snapped back, “And thinks that banging the Manager of the Post Office is something I needed or wanted to know. Do you know how often you need to post your etsy art there? You’re taking an arrow to the knee when you two break up.”

“Rude,” Dagon responded, “No, I’m going to marry her for the tax benefits, and the staff discounts on stamps.”

Beelzebub squinted their eyes, “I honestly can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’ll tell you after you get back for your walk,” Dagon responded, “If you don’t die when the sunlight turns your vitamin deficient skin to a fine powder.”

“I’m not a vampire,” Beelzebub responded in a deadpan.

“Sure you’re not,” Dagon responded, yanking Beelzebub up to their feet, “The iron deficiency, look of general death and disease-“

“Are you talking shit about my acne?”

“-Pale skin and inability to deal with your problems like a normal human being – oh and the counting.”

“That’s just sesame street,” Beelzebub responded, “And asking everyone to pay some rent around here isn’t a_ sign_ that I’m the undead.”

“Sure, it isn’t,” Dagon responded, “Just a night shift worker who hangs out in the morgue sometimes with your boss. How is Lucifer these days? Are you two still trying to unionise?”

“Why do you wanna know?” Beelzebub shot back and grabbed one of Dagon’s hideous jackets to sling around their shoulders, “I’ll be back in 20. There’s a bag of lemons in the fridge, I want my fish sour.”

“Yeah,” Dagon responded as Beelzebub pulled the door open, “I’m not even sure if Salmon is the fish with the bones yet. Good luck with that.”

“Pay some rent!” Beelzebub hollered.

The only response Beelzebub received, was the sound of a lock clicking shut behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

“What’s this?” Gabriel asked when he entered his apartment after a long day of delivering mail with a smile, “Michael?”

Propped up against a solid pine bookcase, lovingly restored and oiled by Gabriel’s own hand, was something that looked like it had been pulled out of a car crash. Gabriel winced at the possibility that it could scratch the vanish, or put a dent into the wood, but took a steadying breath to centre himself.

It was an almost perfect square of rusted metal, with deep grooves where the metal had been twisted and pulled to form odd organic shapes. It looked like suffering immortalised, like something that had been pulled from a junkyard, because it was too poorly made to even meltdown to repurpose. The copper colour looked fake and terrible against the stark white walls of their apartment.

Gabriel hated it _immediately._

“Artwork,” Michael replied promptly, from her position on the antique rug that Gabriel’s own grandfather had brought back from a visit to Hereke in Turkey sometime in the early 1900s. Gabriel’s blood pressure rose steadily at the sight of the sharp metal piece being placed straight onto the rug. He watched cautiously for any split threads and felt a wave of relief crash over him at the undamaged fabric.

“We don’t have any room for any more artwork,” Gabriel responded with a smile, “And the bare wall in your room isn’t structurally able to hold such a …. _sizable_ work of art.”

“It’s not for my room,” Michael responded and frowned as she polished out a spot. Gabriel couldn’t imagine how she could pick up any stains when half the work was rusted and then stared back in horror as the words hit him.

“Pardon?” Gabriel queried, and then inhaled sharply as he recalled the bare patch of the wall above the bathtub, “Where would you presume to put it?”

“It’s going into the office at work,” Michael replied, glancing up to smile tightly, “The commercially-brought picture of a plant, that we brought at a discount several years ago, makes our service look cheap and tacky.”

“Right,” Gabriel responded slowly, feeling a little offended, since he had picked out that picture himself, “With that?”

“Dagon designed it,” Michael responded in a deadpan tone and an icy chill to her voice, “It’s lovely, isn’t it Gabriel? Certainly, just _divine_.”

Gabriel stared at the twisted metal and tried to find something in it that could possibly be considered artwork, and not senseless vandalism. The more he stared down at it, the more he was convinced he was being played the fool.

“Oh,” Gabriel finally forced himself to say, “Just lovely.”

Michael smiled, but this time her words were less cold, “Dagon is an incredible artist. Really invokes the sensitivities of Matisse, Degas and Giacometti. Don’t you just agree?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Gabriel’s smile twitched at the corner, “It’s certainly very _unique.”_

Michael hummed approvingly, and Gabriel realised in utter horror that Michael genuinely loved the monstrosity threatening to tear apart his perfectly curated living room. Gabriel’s eyes widened, and he tried to force his expression into something less likely to start an argument, Michael turned her eyes away to continue to inspect the sculpture for spots she could polish away.

Gabriel exhaled slowly.

“I’ll need you to take it into the office tomorrow,” Michael replied with a smile, “I’m leaving for the county conference tomorrow, of course. Would you be able to ensure it’s safely delivered, and hung in the correct position by the time I get back around lunchtime?”

“Of course,” Gabriel agreed, and immediately felt like he was making a mistake, “Enjoy your conference.”

“Without hesitation,” Michael cheerfully responded, “Ensure it doesn’t get wet, please? Don’t let me keep you from your nightly bath though. Uriel left some sugar snap pea and carrot soba noodles in the fridge for you, but there’s a leftover kale, black bean and avocado burrito bowl in the fridge if you’d prefer to eat gluten-free tonight.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel responded politely, and then spun on his heels to head straight for the bathroom, “I will eat the Soba and give my thanks to Uriel. A pleasure, as always, Michael.”

Gabriel escaped in annoyance, and Michael went back to lovingly polishing the sculptural piece, but this time with a slightly wider smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I live, an update. Huzzah.

Beelzebub slept the whole night once they returned from their mandated walk. They barely could eat the salmon Dagon had carefully prepared – with a side of instant mashed potatoes from a package because Dagon hadn’t gone shopping in a week – due to exhaustion. After the food was devoured, Beelzebub passed out on the couch under a heap of towels – because Hastur really had taken every single piece of bedding in the apartment.

Beelzebub then had a very unfamiliar feeling of waking up with the sun a little after 6 am. Dagon was already gone by then, along with all the seedlings from the shower. There was still a salmon in the vanity in the bathroom, but if it had survived the previous night’s feast, Dagon might have decided to keep it as a pet. A salmon certainly wouldn’t be the oddest thing, in a house of lizards and frogs – but Dagon was also subscribed to several doomsday prepper magazines so there was always a chance she just considered the fish a fall-back plan.

Whatever Dagon was up to – and it was usually several somethings – it didn’t change the fact that Beelzebub hadn’t had a day off since they’d first decided to apply for medical school. It meant an oddly leisurely morning of a long shower, sipping instant coffee and glowering at the emptiness of the fridge despite the empty jar of grocery money that Beelzebub regularly crammed bills into.

With this on their mind, Beelzebub found the least-offensively smelling pair of pants in the apartment – which might have been Dagon’s considering Beelzebub had to roll the cuffs up – and stole a jumper from Ligur’s clothing bucket out of spite and threw it on. Both were in shades of black because no one in the household really understood the concept of _colours_ – although everything Hastur touched (including Ligur, quite often) inevitably was speckled with his signature Kermit-green spray paint. Hastur had left his lime green crocs by the door, and Beelz slipped them on despite the fact they were a little large, and a little suspiciously charred on the sides. Beelzebub could still smell a mix of burning plastic, which was perhaps the least surprising thing about the day so far.

Beelzebub had their own sturdy backpack; a grey and black monstrosity that had come from a university gift shop as part of a scholarship they’d taken out on accounts of the whole “kicked out of home” thing. It was several years old, and their boss always curled his lips up in disgust at the years of enamel pins and paint, and patches holding the bag together. He’d slapped a biohazard sticker on the side, and it had been proudly stuck there ever since. The bag was lucky – Beelzebub had first practised sutures on the bag, and it had been the very first thing they’d brought on a scholarship dime. Right throughout medical school, there had been more than a few times that the backpack had been the only thing they’d carried with them.

The household, though, lacked proper reverence, and generally used it to shove their candy wrappers and overdue library books. Beelzebub dumped the trash and books on the couch before swinging the bag on their shoulders and deciding that today was the day that Dagon ate a fruit.

They made it out the door, and up the stairs to the atrium in a good mood before it immediately soured, festered and _decayed_ upon the sight of Gabriel. He was huffing, and barely containing an enormous hunk of copper in his arms. His tiny little postman shorts were riding up against the copper, and Beelzebub faintly wondered what his uptight personality would do if the threads of the fabric ripped on the metal. He looked the sort to carry around a tiny sewing kit, but also looked like he exclusively brought the same shorts in bulk and regularly colour-tested them for fading.

He looked utterly _furious_, and Beelzebub felt a sense of vindictive_ thrill_ rush through them at the sight of his simmering rage.

“Good morning Gabriel,” Beelzebub cheerfully announced, as pleasantly as they could muster, and smiled widely as the sudden surprise almost made him _drop_ the sculpture.

Gabriel glowered back, and Beelzebub made a pantomime of checking their wrist for a non-existent watch.

“Gosh, it’s almost 8:30 am? Aren’t you running _late _for work?”

“Beelzebub,” Gabriel replied tightly, “I wasn’t aware that dealers of illicit substances worked such early hours.”

“That sounds like you have some personal biases to work out,” Beelzebub responded, “Don’t dent Dagon’s art, she worked very hard on that for Michael.”

With that, Beelzebub grinned, and took a few more steps towards the doors, noting with a frown that it was pouring down with rain. The basement apartment really didn’t have many windows, and most of them had been blacked out to cater for the growing array of animals – and Crowley, who had some kind of vision problem that necessitated medical glasses to be worn at all times to prevent him from going blind.

No taxi’s or ubers were willing to come and pick up anyone from the basement level anymore, and no one was really sure whether it was Hastur or Ligur that had caused an issue, or even what they’d done. It was certainly _something _though because Hastur and Ligur consistently always did _something. _The facts didn’t change, even when it was pouring down with rain.

It also didn’t change the fact that Beelzebub was not prepared to walk 30 minutes to the grocery store in the absolute rain.

But - the grocery store _was _right next to the post office.

“On second thought,” Beelzebub announced, and turned back to face Gabriel, “You don’t own a car, right? You only own the bicycle that you leave pushed against my bannister _in violation of the lease agreement_. How are you getting that from here to the post office?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, “My bicycle is _under_ the height and weight requirements; it is allowed to remain in the atrium.”

“Not against my bannister,” Beelzebub shot back, “Lean it against your own – it drips water and dirt down the side of the stairs and pools at my front door.”

“How can you tell the difference between the normal gunk you trek in,” Gabriel shot back, “Are you running an illicit Airbnb from your abode in violation of city ordinance?”

“It’s called having_ friends_ you spineless fuck,” Beelzebub shot back.

“Oh really?” Gabriel retorted, “An interesting bunch.”

“Do you want my help or not, fucker?”

“_Hmm_,” Gabriel responded with a look that was not interested in making casual conversation.

“Because you can’t get that _wet_,” Beelzebub responded, “It’s part copper, part iron. The iron will rust, and the copper will go green. You’re going to get fired if you ruin the artwork that Dagon gifted to Michael as a declaration of love and everlasting commitment or whatever.”

“What?” Gabriel responded in surprise, “Excuse me?”

“Good luck with that!” Beelzebub responded, and took a daring step forward just to hear Gabriel fail to absorb that information, “I’m sure Michael won’t fire you or anything.”

“Wait,” Gabriel responded, and Beelzebub felt a smile curl across their face at the sheer grudgingness of the sound, “What are you suggesting?”

Beelzebub turned slowly and couldn’t quite remove the smugness from their face.

“Call a taxi,” Beelzebub helpfully responded, “And I’ll help you carry that thing into the post office, so Dagon’s declaration of love goes untarnished.”

“What’s in it for you?” Gabriel looked back suspiciously, “What do you want?”

“Dagon’s my best friend? Hashtag Gay Rights?” Beelzebub peered back incredulously, “I don’t give a shit about your _job_ – you became redundant when we invented the _email_ – but I’m not going to let the glorious post service fuck up another package. Have you ever delivered something you _didn’t_ destroy? _I think the fuck not_.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, and Beelzebub’s eyes snapped towards the quiver in his muscles. They couldn’t tell if it was pure anger, or if the weight of carrying dozens of kilos of pure metal was starting to weigh him down. But – Beelzebub had also never seen Gabriel visibly show his anger – no matter how enraged he looked.

_Interesting_.

Gabriel’s face pinched and then flew through several very complicated movements as he thought through the idea. Whatever the process was, it took less time than Beelzebub expected for Gabriel to sigh, and awkwardly place down the structural artwork against the stairs to his apartment.

“_Fine_,” Gabriel responded, with an odd tightness to his words, “I’ll just – call a taxi then?”

Gabriel held the phone in one hand awkwardly for a second, before making wild stabbing motions at his phone with his pointer finger. Beelzebub watched in a fascinated sort of trance, as Gabriel’s texting skills grew steadily more painful to see.

“Make sure you specify it’s for the top apartment,” Beelzebub interjected, through Gabriel’s baby-boomer level texting skills, “And use your name.”

Gabriel nodded, then, he paused to remove a little notebook and pen from a pocket to write down a number, before he started to input the number to the phone and dial. Beelzebub continued to watch in fascination at the process until he tucked the notebook and pen away in his pocket-protector.

“Are you _kidding _me?” Beelzebub muttered lowly but continued to watch while Gabriel painfully ordered a taxi to the apartment complex but specified the right information. For the first time today, Beelzebub was filled with relief as he seemed to a book a taxi without any grief.

“They’ll be here in ten minutes,” Gabriel confirmed, and then proceeded to stand awkwardly, in silence for a long moment, “We’re going to need a plastic cover to keep the rain off – do you happen to have anything? My apartment is plastic-free.”

“You have like, fifteen billion pieces of Tupperware.”

“No _disposable _plastics,” Gabriel corrected himself, “Plastic is an absolute _curse_ on this earth, but I don’t expect you to understand that. I’ve seen the boxed dinners and packaged food that you _incorrectly_ put into the recycling bins despite my helpful charts.”

“Hastur’s _dyslexic_,” Beelzebub retorted, “Make your shitty micromanaging charts more disability-friendly. Didn’t you laminate the sign anyway? That’s a plastic.”

Gabriel huffed, “It was _necessary_ since you’re going to get the whole building penalised for poorly sorting recycling. We ought to ban all plastics anyway.”

“According to what? Your own self-made neighbourhood watch policy?” Beelzebub shot back, “Fuck that bullshit. Plastic is the best thing humanity ever invented, wank lord.”

Gabriel recoiled, and his face twitched several times before he adopted an expression that Beelzebub commonly associated with mansplainers.

“Plastics are _poisons_ destroying our God-given planet,” Gabriel finally responded with a painfully wide smile, “Are you aware that plastics contain toxic chemicals like BPA, phthalates, lead, dioxins, mercury, cadmium and antimony trioxide?”

“Modern healthcare could not exist without plastics, single-use plastics are a key part of infection control,” Beelzebub retorted, “Disposable syringes, catheters, intravenous blood bags, inflatable splints, inhalation masks, gloves, and heart valves – you’re already talking _shit_ about Hastur – do you hate the sick and dying as well, Gabriel?”

“Plastics are _carcinogens_,” Gabriel responded, “We can find new ways of making sterile medical supplies. We need to reduce plastic consumption and you can’t argue that your household waste - plastic straws and _microwave dinners_ are healthcare devices.”

“Straws are basic medical aid,” Beelzebub replied, “Microwave dinners are food hygienic and allergen-safe. Check and mate, I’ll argue with you all day if you want.”

“You’re wilfully missing the point and being the _devil’s advocate_,” Gabriel huffed back, “We haven’t even started on the way these carcinogens can act as an estrogen-mimicking additive chemical or be a brain and nervous system toxicant. My whole apartment is trying to detox from those at the moment.”

Beelzebub stared back incredulously, “Did you get that from your anti-vaxxer mommy blog? Do you submerge your Tupperware containers in essential oils before use?”

Gabriel glowered, and this time when he shook, it was certainly from anger.

“Just because you don’t care about the planet,” Gabriel huffed, and then seemed to relax, “I’d imagine you don’t have much in the way of future planning when you’re busy doing whatever _shady_ illegal dealings you get up to.”

“They pay me well on account of all the dead bodies,” Beelzebub retorted dryly, and then watched as Gabriel visibly blanched at the serious look on Beelzebub’s face, “Gabriel, what the fuck do you think I _do_?”

“You’re awake at weird hours, you look like you’ve never taken a shower, you have the worst scars I’ve ever _seen_ on a person, and you usually smell _terrible_,” Gabriel narrowed his eyes, “I will not be _an accessory _to- “

“I’m a medical resident,” Beelzebub snapped back, “I’m a whole Doctor, I spend most of my day split between infectious disease control, and the emergency department. You always see me at the end of my goddamn shifts, when I have to walk home because your goddamn shitty homeowner’s association won’t allow a goddamn bus route through the neighbourhood. Get _fucked_ dickhead.”

Gabriel stared back, then narrowed his eyes, “Prove it.”

“Fuck no,” Beelzebub responded, “I’m not showing you any form of ID, I have nothing to prove to you. As far as I can see, you’re the one who needs help. “

“How old are you?” Gabriel demanded, “You have _acne_ and a really gross rash across most of you– you can’t be old enough to be a doctor.”

Beelzebub _recoiled_, “Hey _fuck you_. It’s called cystic acne, and it’s none of your _damned_ business.”

Gabriel paused and then frowned, “You’re _right_ – it was rude of me.”

“Like _fuck,_ it was,” Beelzebub huffed, “And no one can do_ shit_ about my face until the deeper cystic acne component is under sustained control, and that’s gonna take months so you can shut your dumb face about it forever. At least mine can be _fixed_ – you’re stuck with yours.”

“Sorry,” Gabriel replied, but it looked like it took a significant amount of effort, “Are – all your … _friends _medical residents?”

Gabriel’s expression was pinched like he still hadn’t wrapped his brain around the concept.

“Nah, I _did_ meet Dagon at med school thou,” Beelzebub casually said, while Gabriel’s face flashed with surprise, “She was one of the actors the school hired to pretend to be patients, and she was really good at making students cry because she’s as friendly as a piranha. She’s my _hero_.”

Gabriel frowned, “And the others?”

“What are you a _cop_ or something?” Beelzebub quipped back with a considering look, “Ligur’s working on his Master’s at the moment and keeping Hastur in check. Hastur’s doing street art and nude modelling. I met them at their wedding.”

Beelzebub could see the exact moment Gabriel’s brain was split between a choice of asking clarification on two topics. It was open conflict and Beelzebub delighted in the struggle until Gabriel finally spoke again.

“A Master’s in what?”

Beelzebub shrugged.

“They don’t have the same surname,” Gabriel replied, more to himself.

“Yeah because their names are _jokes_, dumbass,” Beelzebub rolled their eyes, “Ligur Vodník? A Vodník is some sort of water spirit, but the German form is ‘hastrman’. Issa joke. Get it?”

“What about- “

“Gabriel, _google_ it,” Beelzebub interjected, “Or _ask_ them, if you can pull your head out of your ass long enough. What about you? How’d you end up shacked up with your boss, and two co-workers with an anti-fraternisation policy stapled to your ass?”

“_Work_?” Gabriel frowned, “I intended on living alone, but Uriel needed a place when her lease ran out, and then Sandalphon was trying to find a room with more space. Michael came over and asked to move in sometime in February when my old _housemate_ moved out with his partner.”

“Hmm,” Beelzebub retorted suspiciously, “_Dagon_ moved in around then when Crowley decided to finally leave.”

Gabriel frowned, but didn’t respond to Beelzebub’s narrowed eyes.

“Why the fuck are _we_ the weird ones?” Beelzebub eventually said, “You have a weird post-office cult apartment _– why would you want to go to work with your housemates_ – and you think I’m weird for taking pity on the night-shift workers of the town?”

Gabriel frowned a little more deeply, like it hadn’t occurred to him that you could have friends outside of work, “I have a whole list of citations for your flagrant rule-breaking and sheer _disregard_ for the rules.”

“I don’t give a shit about the lease,” Beelzebub retorted with a scoff, “Just you try, and you’ll have a goddamned war on your hands.”

The two glowered at each other until Gabriel’s eyes turned to watch a taxi pull up out the front.

Beelzebub smiled back smugly.

Gabriel sighed, “Can you please help me?”

“Sure thing, wank lord,” Beelzebub cheerfully replied, “You’re paying for the taxi.”


End file.
